Requiem for the Devil

by Jeri Smith-Ready

We reached the platform and sat on a smooth granite bench to wait for the train.

  “What about you?” I asked.

  “I’m a lobbyist.”

  “Speaking of mercenaries . . .”

  “No, I’m on the side of the good guys,” she said. “Of course, everyone claims to be a good guy.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “So what slice of American pie do you represent?”

  “The people I fight for don’t get any pie,” she said, “unless you count the stale crumbs. I’m an advocate for the poor.”

  “Then you’re a brave woman. Compassion is a scarce commodity these days.”

  “True, it’s not the trendiest of jobs, or the most lucrative.” The smooth silver train slid into the station. The rush of wind through the tunnel blew Gianna’s hair into a black corona around her head.

  “This time of year,” she said, “people’s consciences gnaw at them. They give away truckloads of canned goods and quote Dickens and wring their hands over the ‘less fortunate.’” We boarded the Metro and took seats perpendicular to each other. “But God forbid anyone should address why they’re poor in the first place, or try to change the structures that keep them poor. Then the ‘less fortunate’ turn into ‘welfare queens’ and ‘derelicts.’ But if I were a lobbyist whoring on behalf of some transnational corporation, I’d never hear the word ‘derelict.’”

  “So when it comes to taking care of poor people,” I said, “if Mother Teresa is the Hallmark card, then you’re the electric bill.”

  Gianna laughed. “I’m going to put that observation on a poster in our office.” She propped her feet on the edge of my seat, folded her arms in front of her chest, and examined me. It felt good. “Louis Carvalho, in the flesh. Brilliant, handsome, and probably very wealthy. What’s it like to be on top of the world?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry,” she said. “I have a psychological disorder that prevents me from keeping thoughts inside my head where they belong. Are you married?”

  “Would I be here with you if I were married?”

  “Sure. You’d be a jerk, though, and I’m trying to rule out that possibility.”

  “No, I’m not married.”

  “Ever been?”

  “No,” I said, “not even close.”

  “Why not?”

  “No one ever asked me. What about you?”

  “Countless times,” she said.

  “Married or asked?”

  “Asked. But all the times don’t really count, because it was always the same person.”

  “Mr. Vanilla?”

  “How’d you guess?” The train slowed into another station. “Here’s our stop.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “To the world’s greatest chicken,” she said.

  The world’s greatest chicken apparently roosted in a joint called the Squabhouse, where the grease seemed to ooze from the wood paneling itself. We sat at a tiny window table.

  The waitress arrived with menus. I scanned the beer list, dismayed at the choices. “I guess I’ll have a glass of—”

  “We don’t got glasses.”

  “Sorry?”

  “We only serve beer by the pitcher,” the waitress said. “Then you drink it out of a cup.”

  “It’s okay,” Gianna said. “We’ll have a pitcher of light beer.” After the waitress left, Gianna said, “All things in moderation, right?”

  She was right about the chicken, and there was nothing moderate about it. It tasted like it had been smothered in manna and fried in the sweat of angels.

  After several minutes, I broke the silence of unbridled ravenousness. “This is incredible.”

  “Isn’t it? I love eating chicken with my bare hands. It makes me want to snarl at people, even more than usual.” She licked the grease off her fingers and picked up her cup of beer. “So you like this place? You’re not mad I made you slum?”

  “Of course not.” I scarfed another onion ring. “You can’t eat ambience.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” We tapped plastic cups in a toast. My mobile phone rang.

  “Just a second.” I reached inside my jacket for the phone. “Yes?”

  “Hey, it’s me,” Mephistopheles said.

  “Go ahead, Malcolm.”

  “Oh, you’re with someone.”

  “Yes, I’m on a date. Get to the point.” Gianna split the last onion ring and left half of it in the basket.

  “Sorry, Lou. I’m at the home of one of our minions. One of the humans. A lawyer.”

  “Let me guess: he wants to renegotiate his contract.”

  “Bingo. He says we tricked him into agreeing to indefinite terms.”

  “Did you remind him about Article II?”

  “You mean the one about free will?”

  “That’s the one.” I watched Gianna eat the remaining onion ring half.

  “We reviewed the whole agreement in detail,” Mephistopheles said. “He wants to talk to you.”

  “I’m busy right now. Have him send me a memo.”

  “Please, Lou, as a favor to me, would you get him off my back?”

  I sighed. “Fine. Put him on.”

  “Thanks. His name’s John Vaughn. So if you’re on a date, we shouldn’t wait for you tonight?”

  “What’s tonight?”

  “Sunday. Movie night at Bub’s.”

  “Oh, yeah. No, don’t wait for me.” I stood up and said to Gianna, “You’ll have to excuse me for a moment.” I stepped out onto the sidewalk.

  “Hello?” a man’s voice said on the phone.

  “Yes?”

  “How are you this evening, sir?”

  “Extremely occupied, Mr. Vaughn. Now state your complaint in twenty words or less.”

  “It’s not exactly a complaint. More of a request. I’d like to get out of our contract early.”

  “Very funny. What do you really want?”

  The other end of the phone was silent for a moment. “I—”

  “Mr. Vaughn, haven’t we given you more money, power, and respect than you could possibly deserve?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And in return, you’ve served us well. I think both parties are benefiting from the arrangement, don’t you agree?”

  “Actually, I think the time is approaching when this party will cease to benefit. I’d like to file a habeas corpus on my behalf, and—”

  “A what?!” I glanced back at the restaurant window, waved and smiled at Gianna, then turned my back. “Listen to me, you pathetic little prick, I know what this is all about. You’re getting older, staring death in the face, and you’re looking for a little salvation insurance.”

  “I—”

  “The only way out of our employment is to be terminated.”

  “How do I get—”

  “Don’t ask. Look, for your sake, let’s both pretend this conversation never happened. Good night, Mr. Vaughn.” I hung up.

  Gianna was finishing the last drumstick when I re-entered the Squabhouse.

  “Sorry about that,” I said. “One of our clients didn’t understand the terms of our agreement, and my account exec was having trouble setting him straight.”

  “It’s okay. It’s too bad they have to bother you on the weekend, though.”

  “If you want peace, never own your own business.” I looked at the empty plates and cups on the table. “So first we had dessert, now we’ve had dinner. Shall we complete the cycle and go have cocktails?”

  “We just drank a pitcher of beer,” she said. “Any more and I’ll be unconscious.”

  “Hors d’oeuvres, then?”

  “I’m stuffed.”

  “Soup? A couple of crackers? What about . . . anything?”

  She looked at her watch. “I really need to get home soon. I’ve got to get up early tomorrow.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  “I’d like to see you again, though. Can I call you?”

>   “I’d like that.” I gave her my card.

  “How about Friday?”

  “How about tomorrow?”

  “A Monday night date?”

  “We’ll defy Monday and have a great time,” I said. “I was thinking of the Holy Trinity—drinks, dinner, and dancing.”

  “Well, Tuesday is Veterans Day, so things at the office will be slow. I could go in late.” She bit her lip, then shook her head. “No, I really need to catch up on some paperwork.”

  “Paperwork?”

  “And filing.”

  “Filing?!”

  “I’m kidding,” she said. “It’s interesting to see how far your ego will stretch to accommodate someone else’s wishes.”

  “What did I do to deserve that comment?”

  “Nothing yet. I just have this feeling you’re the kind of guy who needs to be kept in check.”

  “Look, Gianna,” I said, “I appreciate your candor and the fact that you feel comfortable enough around me to express every thought that enters your head. But I am not any kind of guy. I am like no one you’ve ever met before. So don’t dump your emotional baggage in front of me and expect me to tiptoe around it.”

  She stared at me for a moment, then cleared her throat. “Okay.”

  The waitress arrived with the check, which I paid. “Keep the change.” I turned to Gianna. “Okay what?”

  “Okay nothing. You’re right. I shouldn’t attack you like that without cause.” She stood and let me help her into her coat. “I’ll wait until I have cause. Then I’ll attack you.”

  I turned her to face me. “Expect to be attacked in return.”

  Her eyes sparked, and the inches between us crackled.

  “I can’t wait.” She uttered a soft little hiss and moved out of my grip. “Let’s get out of here.”

  We walked back to the Metro station in silence. When we boarded the train, I sat next to her. She didn’t protest, but averted her eyes. There was something between us that hadn’t been there before—something that both separated and connected us.

  Finally she pulled out my business card. “I’ll come by your office around seven tomorrow night. How’s that sound?”

  “Great. Seven. That sounds . . . good.”

  “Okay, then. Good.” The train slowed. She stood up. “This is my station.”

  “Let me walk you home,” I said.

  “No, don’t. I prefer quick good nights. Fewer decisions that way.” The train stopped, and the doors opened. “Good night, Louis. I had a brilliant time today.”

  “Gianna.” She stepped onto the platform. I caught her hand and brought it to my lips. As I kissed her fingertips, our minds clicked onto an image so powerful and sensuous that it shocked us both. Our eyes flew open and met. Two chimes signaled the doors’ closing. Gianna almost stepped forward, then pulled her hand out of mine a moment before the doors sealed shut.

  As the train moved away from the station, I steadied myself and watched her disappear. My view turned to tunnel wall.

  “You make a beautiful couple.”

  I turned to see an elderly black woman in a gray wool coat. Other than a teenager listening to a Walkman stereo, she and I were the only ones remaining in the car.

  “Thank you,” I said. “This was our first date.”

  “There’s gonna be many more, I can tell.”

  “Really?” I sat in the seat in front of her.

  “Mmm-hmm. Ain’t many young men these days know what a fine kiss on the hand can do to a girl. Give her butterflies to keep her up all night.”

  “I hope she gets some sleep. We’re going out tomorrow night, too.”

  “Oh, she’ll have plenty energy, no matter what. You both will. That’s the way it is with new love.”

  My hands went cold. “What?”

  “I said, that’s the way it is with—”

  “I heard you.” I stood up and backed away. “It’s not like that. It’s not like that at all.”

  She shook her head and let out a throaty cackle. “That’s what you think.” Her laughter grew louder, erupted into coughs, then faded back into a soft chuckle. “That’s what you think.”

  Just then, the train pulled into another station. I sprang off and ran up the escalator out into the night.

  Insane woman, I thought. What does she know? Certainly I find Gianna intoxicating; perhaps I’m even infatuated with her presence. But love? I could no more feel love than a moth could fly to the moon.

  I glanced up at the street sign and realized I was less than a mile away from a guaranteed antidote.

  Ten minutes later, I knocked on Beelzebub’s door. When he opened it, he was wearing a toga.

  “Hey, Lou, come on in!”

  “Am I late?”

  “No, you’re just in time. We’re getting ready to watch Caligula. Wanna join us?”

  “Maybe.” I followed him down the hall to the living room.

  “Yo, Lou!” Mephistopheles’s attire matched Beelzebub’s. “Sorry I forgot to tell you on the phone to bring your own toga.” He handed me a beer. “How was your date?”

  “You had a date?” Beelzebub jumped onto the sofa. “All right, story time!”

  Mephistopheles muted the television. “Yeah, Lou, regale us with your wondrous tales of whoopee.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” I said.

  “No way,” Beelzebub said. “Lucifer the Lustpuppy has an everyday, ordinary screw? Say it ain’t so.”

  “No, I mean, there was no sex. But we had a pretty good time.” They looked at me blankly. “I’m seeing her again tomorrow night.” Their jaws dropped as if choreographed.

  “You got a second date?” Mephistopheles said.

  “Yes.”

  “What for?”

  “I had a second date once,” Beelzebub said. “Just as an experiment. Same deal as you. I didn’t score on the first try for some reason, so I decided to have another go at it.”

  “Did it work?” I said.

  “I lost interest by the end of the night. I think I let you have her instead, come to think of it. Remember, tall muscular blonde chick, about three years ago? She kinda had fat knees.”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “I guess I wasn’t missing anything then.” Beelzebub bounced down onto the cushion and leaned back on the large sofa pillow. “So are you gonna hang out with us tonight or what?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Come on, Lou,” Mephistopheles said. “We’re only gonna ask you twice.”

  “Yeah, we’re not in the mood to beg tonight.”

  “I didn’t bring a toga,” I said.

  “No problem.” Beelzebub stood up, removed his toga with one nimble maneuver, and held it towards me. “You can wear mine.” He was, of course, naked underneath.

  I hesitated for a moment, then thought of the old woman on the Metro, with her sly insights and presumptuous laughter.

  I yanked the toga out of his hand. “Get me another beer.”

  4

  Quando Coeli Movendi Sunt et Terra

  Nothing dispels dangerous delusions like a night of debauchery, I thought as I prepared for my second date with Gianna. Now when I looked at myself in the mirror, fastening my gold cufflinks, I saw a man in control.

  “I’m only going to say this once.”

  I turned to see Gianna standing in my office doorway. She looked as if she had always stood there. Her black velvet dress clung to her arms, breasts, and waist before flaring below her hips and swishing above her knees. Her hair was pulled up away from her face, save for a wisp on either side caressing her jaw and cheek. She smoldered with a dangerous elegance.

  “You’re probably already aware of it,” she said, “and I don’t want to be in the business of feeding your ego, but you are the most beautiful man I have ever seen.”

  I stared at her, paralyzed by her radiant beauty, her self-possession. The inexplicable urge to fall to my knees at her feet swept over me. Then I realized she was wa
iting for my reaction.

  I blinked. “Sorry, what did you say?”

  She wrinkled her nose and said nothing.

  “Gianna, you look . . .” I took a step toward her, then another. “You look . . .” For once, I was at a complete loss for words. “Here, this is for you.” From my desk I picked up a white rose, the petals of which were edged with deep red, and presented it to her.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. “You can’t find roses this color just anywhere.” She held it to her face and inhaled, then smiled coyly. “Am I to assume from this, monsieur, that your feelings toward me are essentially pure with just a tinge of passion?”

  “They didn’t have any roses that were red with a tinge of white.”

  “Oh.” She gestured with the rose. “This is a negative image then?”

  “It may be backwards, but there’s nothing negative about it, I assure you.”

  We gazed at each other for a moment, and I almost kissed her then, but instead offered her my arm. “Shall we away then?”

  “Yes, let’s away.” She inserted her hand through the crook of my arm, and with her touch I felt the power that had fallen away when she walked in the room return tenfold.

  On our elevator trip to the garage I felt a ridiculous need to make small talk.

  “Did you have any trouble finding your way here?”

  “I took a cab.”

  “Oh, of course.” I couldn’t stop staring at her. I reached to touch her hand, but the doors opened first. Gianna took a few steps into the parking garage and gasped.

  “Wow, look at that! It’s an E-type Jaguar, early sixties, I think.” She crept near it to look inside. “This is one of the world’s coolest cars. Not too flashy, you know, a real class act, but so sleek, it’s almost terrifying. And black, too. God, I would kill to drive something like this.”

  The car’s alarm disengaged with a loud doit! when I pressed the button on my keychain. Gianna sprang back like a startled cat. I held up the keys.

  “Whom exactly would you kill to drive it?”

  Her eyes widened. “This is yours?” I nodded. “Then pick a victim,” she said. “We’ll drive to jail in style.”

  I dropped the keys into her open palm and crossed to the passenger side. She didn’t move, only cradled the keys.

  I opened the door. “You coming?”